The Forest Lovers

by Maurice Hewlett

  CHAPTER VI

  THE VIRGIN MARRIAGE

  He had to talk, and as the girl gave him no help, Prosper found himselfasking questions and puzzling out the answers he got, trying to makethem fit with the facts. He was amazed that one so delicately formedshould go barefooted and bareheaded, clad in torn rags. To all hisquestions she replied in a voice low and tremulous, and verysimply--that is to say, to such of them as she would answer at all. Tomany--to all which touched upon Galors and his business with her in thequarry--she was as dumb as a fish. Prosper was as patient as you couldexpect.

  He asked her who she was, and how called. She told him--"I amMatt-of-the-Moors child, and men call me Isoult la Desirous."

  "That is a strange name," said he. "How came you by such a name asthat?"

  "Sir," said Isoult, "I have never had any other; and I suppose that Ihave it because I am unhappy, and not at peace with those who seek me."

  "Who seeks you, Isoult?"

  To that she gave no reply. So Prosper went on.

  "If many sought you, child," he said, "you were rightly called Isoultla Desiree, but if you, on the other hand, sought something orsomebody, then you were Isoult la Desirous. Is it not so?"

  "My lord," said Isoult, "the last is my name."

  "Then it must be that you too seek something. What is it that you seek,that all the tithing knows of it?"

  But she hung her head and had nothing to say. He went on to speak ofGalors, to her visible disease. When he asked what the monk wanted withher, he felt her tremble on his arm. She began to cry, suddenly turnedher face into his shoulder, and kept it there while her sobs shookthrough her.

  "Well, child," said he, "dry your tears, and turn your face to suchlight as there is, being well assured of this, that whatever he askedof you he did not get, and that he will ask no more."

  "I fear him, I fear him," she said very low--and again, "I fear him, Ifear him."

  "Drat the monk," said Prosper, laughing, "is he to cut me out of acompliment?"

  Whereupon she turned a very woebegone and tearful face up to his. Helooked smilingly down; a sudden wave of half-humbrous pity for a thingso frail and amazed swam about him; before he knew he had kissed hercheek. This set her blushing a little; but she seemed to take heart,smiled rather pitifully, and turned again with a sigh, like a baby'sfor sleep.

  The night gathered apace with a chill wind; some fine rain began tofall, then heavy drops. Gradually the wind increased, and the rain withit. "Now we shall have it," said Prosper, sniffing for the storm. Hecovered Isoult with his cloak, folded it about her as best he could,and tucked it in; she lay in his arms snug enough, and slept while heurged his horse over the stubbed heath. The water hissed and ran overthe baked earth; where had been dry channels, rents and scars, full ofdust, were now singing torrents and broad pools fetlock deep. Prosperlet his good beast go his own gait, which was a sober trot, and everand again as he heard the ripple of running water and the swirl andsuck of the eddies in it, he judged that he must soon or late touch theWan river, whereon stood the Abbey and his bed. What to do with thegirl when he got there? That puzzled him. "A well-ordered abbey," hethought, "has no place for a girl, and one ill-ordered has too many. Inthe first case, therefore, Holy Thorn would leave her at the gate, andin the second, that is where I myself would let her stay. So it seemsthat she must needs have a wet skin." He felt carefully about thesleeping child; the cloak kept her dry and warm as a toast. She wassound asleep. "Good Lord!" cried Prosper, "it's a pity to disturb thisbaby of mine. Saracen and I had better souse. Moreover, I make nonearer, by all that appears, to river Wan or Holy Thorn. Come up,horse; keep us moving."

  The stream he had followed he now had lost. It was pitchy dark, with amost villainous storm of rain and wind. Saracen caught the infection ofhis master's doubts; he stopped short, and bowed his head to snuff theground. Prosper laughed at the plight they were both in, and lookedabout him, considering what he should do. Very far off he could see afeeble light flickering; it was the only speck of brightness within hisvision, and he judged it too steady for a fen-flame. Lodging of somesort should be there, for where there is a candle there is acandlestick. This was not firelight. To it he turned his tired beast,and found that he had been well advised. He was before a mud-walledhovel; there through the horn he saw the candle-flame. He drew hissword and beat upon the door. For answer the light was blown swiftlyout, and the darkness swam about him like ink.

  "Scared folk!" he laughed to himself, hammering at the door with a will.

  Then Isoult stirred on his arm and awoke with a little whimper, halfdreaming still, and not knowing where she was. She sat up in the saddledazed with sleep.

  "The night is wild," said Prosper, "and I have found us the shadow of ashade, but as yet we lack the substance." Then he set-to, pounding atthe door again, and crying to those within to open for the sake of allthe saints he could remember.

  Isoult freed herself from the cloak, and slid down from her seat in thesaddle. Putting her face close to the door she whistled a low note. Thecandle was re-lit, many bolts were withdrawn; finally the door opened alittle way, and an old man put his head through the chink, staring outinto the dark.

  "God's life, you little rip," said the anxious rogue, "you gave us aturn!"

  Isoult spoke eagerly and fast, but too low for Prosper to hear what shesaid. The man was in no mind to open further, and the more he speeredat the horseman the less he seemed to like it. Nevertheless, after atime the girl was let into the hut, and the door slammed and bolted asbefore. Between the shocks of the storm Prosper could now hear aconfusion of voices--Isoult's, low, even, clear and quick; the gratingcomments of the old rogue who kept the door, and another voice thattrembled and wailed as if passion struggled with the age in it, to seewhich should be master. Once he thought to catch a fourth--a briskman's voice, with laughter and some sort of authority in it, whichseemed familiar; but he could not be sure about this. In the main threepersons held the debate.

  After a long wrangle it seemed that the women were to have their way.Again the door-bolts were drawn, again the door opened by the old man,and this time opened wide. With bows lower than the occasion demanded,Prosper was invited to be pleased to enter. He saw to his horse first,and made what provision he could for him in an outhouse. Then hestooped his head and entered the cottage.

  He came directly into a bare room, which was, you may say, crouchedunder a pent of turves and ling, and stank very vilely. The floor wasof beaten clay, like the walls; for furniture it had a table and bench.Sooty cobwebs dripped from the joists, and great spiders ran nimblyover them; there were no beds, but on a heap of rotting skins in onecorner two rats were busy, and in another were some dry leaves andbracken. There was no chimney either, though there was a peat firesmouldering in what you must call the hearth. The place was dense withthe fog of it; it was some time, therefore, before Prosper could leaveblinking and fit his eyes to see the occupants of his lodging....Isoult, he saw, stood in the middle of the room leaning on the tablewith both her hands; her bead was hanging, and her hair veiled all herface. Near her, also standing, was the old man--a sturdy knowing oldvillain, with a world of cunning and mischief in his pair of pig'seyes. His scanty hair, his beard, were white; his eyebrows were whiteand altogether monstrous. He blinked at Prosper, but said nothing. Thethird was a woman, infinitely old as it seemed, crouched over the firedpeats with her back to the room. She never looked up at all, butmuttered and sighed vainly to herself and warmed her hands. Lastly, ina round-backed chair, cross-legged, twirling his thumbs, twinkling withcomfortable repletion, sat Prosper's friend of the road, BrotherBonaccord of Lucca.

  "God save you, gentleman," he chirped. "I see we have the same taste inlodgings. None of your Holy Thorns for us--hey? But a shakedown under asnug thatch, with a tap of red wine such as I have not had out of myown country. What a port for what a night--hey?"

  Prosper nodded back a greeting as he looked from one to another ofthese ill-assorted hosts of his, and whe
never he chanced on themotionless girl he felt that he could not understand it. Look at her!how sweet and delicate she was, how small and well-set her head, herfeet and hands how fine, her shape how tender. "How should a lilyspring in so foul a bed?" thought he to himself. Morgraunt had alreadytaught him an odd thing or two; no doubt it was Morgraunt's way.

  The old man set bread and onions on the table, with some sour red winein a jug. "Sit and eat, my lord, while you may," he said.

  So Prosper and Isoult sat upon the bench and made the most of it, andhe, being a cheerful soul, talked and joked with Brother Bonaccord.Isoult never raised her eyes once, nor spoke a word; as for the numbedold soul by the fire; she kept her back resolutely on the room,muttered her charms and despair, and warmed her dry hands as before.

  When they had eaten what they could there came a change. The friarceased talking; the old man faced Prosper with a queer look. "Sir, haveyou well-eaten and drunken?" he asked.

  Prosper thanked him; he had done excellently.

  "Well, now," said the man, "as I have heard, after the bride-feastcomes the bridal. Will your worship rest with the bride brought home?"

  Prosper got up in an awkward pause. He looked at the man as if he werepossessed of the devil. Then he laughed, saying, "Are you merry, oldrogue?"

  "Nay, sir," said the ancient, "it is no jest. If she mate not thisnight--and it's marriage for choice with this holy man--come sunriseshe'll be hanged on the Abbot's new gallows. For, she is suspected ofwitchcraft and many abominations."

  "Is she your daughter, you dog, and do you speak thus of yourdaughter?" cried Prosper in a fury.

  "Sir," said the man, "who would own himself father to a witch?Nevertheless she is my daughter indeed."

  "What is the meaning of all this? Would you have me marry a witch, oldfool?" Prosper shouted at him. The man shrugged.

  "Nay, sir, but I said it was marriage for choice--seeing the friar wasto hand. We know their way, to marry as soon as look at you. But it'sas you will, so you get a title to her, to take her out of the country."

  Prosper turned to look at Isoult. He saw her standing before the board,her head hung and her two hands clasped together. Her breathing wastroubled--that also he saw. "God's grace!" thought he to himself, "isshe so fair without and within so rotten? Who has been ill-ordering theworld to this pass?" He watched her thoughtfully for some time; then heturned to her father.

  "See now, old scamp," he said, "I have sworn an oath to high God tosuccour the weak, to right wrong, and to serve ladies. Nine times underthe moon I sware it, watching my arms before the cross on StarningWaste. Judge you, therefore, whether I intend to keep it or not. As foryour daughter, she can tell you whether some part of it I have not kepteven now. But understand me, that I do not marry on compulsion or wherelove is not. For that were a sin done toward God, and me, and a maid."

  The old rascal blinked his eyes, jerking his head many times at theshameful girl. Then he said, "Love is there fast and sure. She is allfor loving. They call her Isoult la Desirous, you must know."

  "Yes," said Prosper, "I do know it, for she has told me so already.'

  "And to-morrow she will desire no more, since she will be hanged," saidMatt-o'-the-Moor.

  Prosper started and flushed, and--

  "That is a true gospel, brother," put in the friar. "The Abbot means toair his gallows at her expense; but there is worse than a gallows toit. What did I tell you of the Black Monks when you called 'em White?There is a coal-black among them who'll have her if the gallows haveher not. It is Galors or gallows, fast and sure."

  Prosper rubbed his chin, looked at the friar, looked at Matt, looked atIsoult. She neither lifted her head nor eyes, though the others had methim sturdily enough. She stood like a saint on a church porch; hethought her a desperate Magdalen.

  "Isoult, come here," said he. She came as obediently as you please, andstood before him; but she would not look up until he said again,"Isoult, look me in the face." Then she did as she was told, and hereyes were unwinking and very wide open, full of dark. She parted herlips and sighed a little, shivering somewhat. It seemed to him as ifshe had been with the dead already and seen their kingdom. Prospersaid, "Isoult is this true that thou wilt be hanged to-morrow?"

  "Yes, lord," said Isoult in a whisper.

  "Or worse?"

  "Yes, lord," she said again, quivering.

  "Save only thy lot be a marriage this night?"

  "Yes, lord," she said a third time. So he asked,

  "Art thou verily what this old man thy father hath testified againstthee--a witch, a worker of iniquity and black things, and ofabominations with the devil?"

  Isoult said in a very still voice--"Men say that I am all this, mylord."

  But Prosper with a cry called out, "Isoult, Isoult, now tell me thetruth. Dost thou deserve this death?"

  She sighed, and smiled rather pitifully as she said--

  "I cannot tell, lord; but I desire it."

  "Dost thou desire death, child?" cried he, "and is this why thou artcalled La Desirous?"

  "I desire to be what I am not, my lord, and to have that which I havenever had," she answered, and her lip trembled.

  "And what is that which you are not, Isoult?"

  She answered him "Clean."

  "And what is that which you have never had, my child?"

  "Peace," said Isoult, and wept bitterly.

  Then Prosper crossed himself very devoutly, and covered his face whilehe prayed to his saint. When he had done he said, "Cease crying,Isoult, and tell me the truth, by God and His Christ, and Saint Mary,and by the face of the sky. Art thou such a one as I would wed if lovewere to grow between me and thee, or art thou other?"

  She ceased her crying at this and looked him full in the face, deadlypale. "What is the truth to you concerning me?" she said.

  He answered her, "The truth is everything, for without it nothing canhave good beginning or good ending."

  This made her meek again and her eyes misty. She held out a hand tohim, saying, "Come into the night, and I will tell my lord."

  He took it. Hand-in-hand they went out of the cottage, and hand-in-handstood together alone under the sky. It was still black and heavyweather, but without rain. Isoult dropped his hand and stood beforehim. She shut her arms over her breast so that her two wrists crossedat her throat. Looking full at him from under her brows she said--

  "By God and His Christ, and Saint Mary, and by the face of the sky, Iwill tell you the truth, lord. If the witch's wax be not as abominableas the witch, or the vessel not foul that hath held a foul liquor, thenthou couldst never point scorn at me."

  "Speak openly to me, my child," said Prosper, "and fear nothing."

  So she said, "I will speak openly. I am no witch, albeit I have seenwitchcraft and the revelry of witches on Deerleap. And though I haveseen evil also I am a maiden, my lord, and such as you would have yourown sister to be before she were wed."

  But Prosper put her from him at an arm's-length. He was not yetsatisfied.

  "What was thy meaning then," he asked, "to say that thou wouldst bethat which thou wert not?" He could not bring himself to use the wordwhich she had used; but she used it again.

  "Ah, clean!" she said with a weary gesture. "Lord, how shall I be cleanin this place? Or how shall I be clean when all say that I am unclean,and so use towards me?" She began to cry again, quite silently. Prospercould hear the drips fall from her cheeks to her breast, but no othersound. She began to moan in her trouble--"Ah, no, no, no!" shewhispered, "I would not wed with thee, I dare not wed with thee."

  "Why not?" said Prosper.

  "I dare not, I dare not!" she answered through her teeth, and he felther trembling under his hand. He thought before he spoke again. Then hesaid--

  "I have vowed a vow to my saint that I will save you, soul and body;and if it can be done only by a wedding, then we will be married, youand I, Isoult. But if by battle I can serve your case as well, and ridthe suspicion and save your neck, why, I will d
o battle."

  "Nay, lord," said the girl, "I must be hanged, for so the Lord Abbothas decreed." And then she told him all that Galors had given her tounderstand when he had her in the quarry.

  Prosper heard her to the end: it was clear that she spoke as shebelieved.

  "Well, child," said he, "I see that all this is likely enough, thoughfor the life of me I cannot bottom it. But how then," he cried, after alittle more thinking, "shall I let you be hanged, and your neck so fineand smooth!"

  "Lord," she said, "let be for that; for since I was born I have heardof my low condition, and if my neck be slim 'tis the sooner broke. Letme go then, but only grant me this grace, to stand beside me at thetree and not leave me till I am dead. For there may be a worse thingthan death preparing for me." Again she cried out at her own thoughts"Ah, no, no, no, I dare not let thee wed me!" He heard the wringing ofher hands, and guessed her beside herself.

  He stood, therefore, reasoning it all out something after this fashion."Look now, Prosper," thought he, "this child says truer than she knows.It is an ill thing to be hanged, but a worse to deserve a hanging, andworst of all for her, it seems, to escape a hanging. And it is good tofind death sweet when he comes (since come he must), but better toprove life also a pleasant thing. And life is here urgent, though infetters, in this child's breast; but death is not yet here. Yet if Ileave her she gains death, or life (which is worse), and if I take herwith me it can only be one way. What then! a man can lay down his lifein many ways, giving it for the life that needeth, whether by jumping ared grave or by means slower but not less sure. And if by any deed ofmine I pluck this child out of the mire, put clear light into her eyes(which now are all dark), and set the flush on her grey cheeks whichshe was assuredly designed to carry there; and if she breathe sweet airand grow in the grace of God and sight of men--why then I have donewell, however else I do."

  He thought no more, but took the girl's hand again in both of his."Well, Isoult," he said cheerfully, "thou shalt not be hanged yetawhile, nor shall that worse thing befall thee. I will wed thee as soonas I may. At cock-crow we two will seek a priest."

  "Lord," she said, "a priest is here in this place."

  "Why, yes! Brother Bonaccord. Well," said Prosper, "let us go in."

  But Isoult was troubled afresh, and put her hand against his chest tostay him; breathing very short.

  "Lord," she said, "thou wilt wed me to save my soul from hell and mybody from hanging; but thou hast no love for me in thy heart, as I knowvery well."

  Here was a bother indeed. The girl was fair enough in her peaked elfinway; but the fact was that he did not love her--nor anybody. He hadnothing to say therefore. She waited a little, and then, with her voicesunk to a low murmur, she said--

  "We two will never come together except in love. Shall it not be so?"

  Prosper bowed, saying--

  "It shall be so."

  The girl knelt suddenly down and kissed his foot. Then she rose andstood near him.

  "Let us go in," she said.

  Looking up, they saw the field of heaven strewn thick with stars, theclouds driven off, the wind dropt. And then they went into the hovelhand-in-hand, as they had gone out.

  As soon as he saw them come in together the old man fell to chucklingand rubbing his hands.

  "Wife Mald, wife Mald, look up!" cried he; "there will be a weddingthis night. See, they are hand-fasted already."

  Mald the witch rose up from the hearth at last and faced the betrothed.She was terrible to view in her witless old age; her face drawn intofurrows and dull as lead, her bleared eyes empty of sight orconscience, and her thin hair scattered before them. It was despair,not sorrow, that Prosper read on such a face. Now she peered upon thehand-locked couple, now she parted the hair from her eyes, now slowlypointed a finger at them. Her hand shook with palsy, but she raised itup to bless them. To Prosper she said--

  "Thou who art as pitiful as death, shalt have thy reward. And it shallbe more than thou knowest."

  To the girl she gave no promises, but with her crutch hobbled over thefloor to where she stood. She put her hand into her daughter's bosomand felt there; she seemed contented, for she said to her veryearnestly--

  "Keep thou what thou hast there till the hour of thy greatest peril.Then it shall not fail thee to whomsoever thou shalt show it."

  Then she withdrew her hand and crawled back to crouch over the ashes ofthe fire; nor did she open her lips again that night, nor take any partor lot in what followed.

  "Call the priest, old man," said Prosper, "for the night is spending,and to-morrow we should be up before the sun."

  The old thief went to a little door and opened it, whispering,

  "Come, father;" and there came out Brother Bonaccord of Lucca, verysolemn, vested in a frayed vestment.

  "Young sir," he said, wagging a portentous finger, "you are of thesimple folk our good Father Francis loved. No harm should come of this.And I pray our Lady that I never may play a worse trick on a maid thanthis which I shall play now."

  "We have no ring," said Prosper to all this prelude.

  "Content you, my master," replied Matt-o'-the-Moor; "here is what youneed."

  And he gave him a silver ring made of three thin wires curiouslyknotted in an endless plait.

  "The ring will serve the purpose," Prosper said. "Now, brother, at yourdisposition."

  Brother Bonaccord had no book, but seemed none the worse for that. Hetook the ring, blessed it, gave it to Prosper, and saw that he put itin its proper place; he said all the words, blessed the kneelingcouple, and gave them a brisk little homily, which I spare the reader.There they were wedded.

  Matt-o'-the-Moor at the end of the ceremony gave Prosper a nudge in theribs. He pointed to a heap of leaves and litter.

  "The marriage-bed," he said waggishly, and blew out the light.

  Isoult lay down on the bed; Prosper took off his body-armour and laybeside her, and his naked sword lay between them.